


The Best Cure

by daydream_davy



Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, can be interpreted how you want, not really slash, peter is like TV show peter, sick Davy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:31:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydream_davy/pseuds/daydream_davy
Summary: On the day of a gig, Davy wakes up sick, causing each Monkee to try to make him feel better in their own special ways. Just a cute, domestic, not really slash, but it could be, short fic. Interpret it how you will...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is based more on their TV personas than their real life personalities, so Peter is more like TV Peter than real life Peter.

It was the morning of an important gig for the Monkees, their first one in weeks, and one they needed to get up early for.  
  
Two alarm clocks rang from separate ends of the house, one in Micky and Mike’s room, and the other in Peter and Davy’s room. Peter jumped out of bed and shut off the alarm, Davy however, was not as quick to stir. He simply rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head. At that, Peter just shrugged, he knew that Davy didn’t really like to get up early, and went about his routine.  
  
Knowing that Davy would get up eventually, Peter called out, “See you at breakfast,” before leaving their room.  
  
It was fifteen minutes later before Davy even cracked open his eyes and slowly got out from under the covers.  
  
“My head feels awfully heavy today,” he said to himself as he stumbled over to his dresser. “Oop, I’ve definitely got a headache,” he cringed as he rubbed his head. Davy was determined though not to let anything ruin this day, he knew they desperately needed this gig, so he got dressed and pushed aside thoughts that maybe he wasn’t feeling one hundred percent.  
  
Davy joined the other guys halfway through breakfast. They all noticed that something was wrong when he started pouring milk on his toast and saw that his hair was in a ruffled mess.  
  
Mike frowned and reached over to take the milk off of him. “You feeling ok, Davy?”  
  
Davy answered in an overly cheery tone, “Oh I’m fine, just absolutely gro- “he broke off into a fit of coughing, “Groovy.”  
  
“You sound terrible!” Peter interjected.  
  
“This boy needs a doctor!” Micky exclaimed, hopping out of his chair.  
  
“No, no, I’m alright,” Davy protested followed by another fit of coughing.  
  
Mike patted him on the back and Micky flew around the pad, ending up in a doctor’s outfit, complete with a stethoscope and otoscope. He frantically “examined” Davy, looking in his ears, listening to his heart, and making him say “ahh.” Micky concluded his examination by dramatically gasping and exclaiming, “It’s no use, I’m afraid- “  
  
“Oh Davy, not Davy,” Mike covered his face.  
  
Peter looked about to cry as he said, “He’s too young to die!”  
  
“Pull yourselves together men!” Micky ordered in an impression of a general.  
  
Mike and Peter jumped into attention and both saluted.  
  
Micky dropped his general impersonation and said, “Guys, Davy just has a cold, but he definitely can’t perform today.”  
  
Mike and Peter relaxed, glad it was just a cold. After his initial relief, Mike however, started thinking about the implications of not doing the gig today.  
  
“Oi, I’m still here!” Davy exclaimed. “And I can perform, I can still sing, listen here.”  
  
Mike, Micky, and Peter listened as Davy broke off into a raspy chorus of “Daydream Believer” prematurely ended by violent coughing.  
  
“Ok maybe I can’t sing,” Davy huffed, “but I can still play the tambourine and maracas.”  
  
Before anyone could stop him, he lunged toward where they kept their instruments. However, the pounding in his head had gotten worse and Davy felt a little dizzy, but he didn’t want to admit it.  
  
He never made it to the instruments though, instead he swayed dangerously, Mike moved in to catch him just in time.  
  
“Tiny, you’re not going anywhere today.” Mike said, matter-of-factly.  
  
“I guess not,” Davy replied sadly.  
  
The other two Monkees helped Mike carry Davy back to his room and gently placed him on his bed. He tried to resist their efforts to cover him up, but after another coughing fit, he gave in.  
  
Once Davy was situated, Mike called an important meeting with Peter and Micky at the kitchen table. Mike beat his gavel and the meeting was in session.  
  
“Ok first order of business, we cannot perform without Davy, and even if we could, we can’t leave him alone like this.” Mike began.  
  
“I second that notion,” Micky answered, “I would never dream of going on without him.”  
  
“We’d be incomplete,” Peter stated.  
  
Mike nodded, “Glad we all agree, its settled then, we’ll skip the gig and take care of Davy. And I’m sure we’ll be able to get money for the rent somehow.” He banged his gavel on the table and the meeting concluded.  
  
The three of them rushed back to Davy to share the decision with him.  
  
Peter gave him a small smile, “We’re taking care of you today.”  
  
Davy did not return the smile though, “What about the gig?”  
  
“We’re cancelling, your health is more important than some show.” Mike explained.  
  
“You must be joking! What about the money? And you- “Davy paused to sneeze, “don’t need me, you all can sing and I don’t play guitar or- “  
  
He got cut off by Micky. “Whoa, hold it! Davy babe, how could you say that?” Micky continued somewhat overdramatically, “Without you, we’re seventy-five cents, an unfinished song, a car with a flat tire, the Beatles without- “Micky’s long passionate speech was ended by Mike.  
  
Mike glanced up and then interrupted, “What Micky’s trying to say is that we would never perform without you if we had the choice, and today we have a choice, we’re not performing. Now stop thinking things like that Davy, those thoughts are no good.”  
  
“And who needs money,” Peter added.  
  
“Yeah!” Micky and Mike agreed, despite knowing that they were in fact short on funds this month.  
  
Davy raised his eyebrows at that, but then he sighed, “Thanks fellas, I guess I do think about that too much…” He couldn’t meet their eyes.  
  
“Hey it’s ok man, but don’t worry about stuff like that,” Mike softly said.  
  
“Yeah and don’t forget that nobody can dance like you,” Micky winked.  
  
Peter looked thoughtful for a moment before he said seriously, “And we all love you.”  
  
Davy looked up and allowed himself a smile, a little self-conscious at his friends’ words, but mostly Peter’s.  
  
“Really?”  
  
He was answered by a chorus of “of courses” and “you know its.”  
  
A slight blush tinted his cheeks, fever or perhaps some other cause, when he chuckled, “I guess I shouldn’t complain then if you’re going to do whatever I say today.”  
  
“Babe, there’s limits,” Micky laughed, ruffling Davy’s already messy hair.  
  
He yawned, the long conversation had taken a lot out of the sick boy.  
  
The other three Monkees took that as their cue to leave, quietly sneaking out of the room as Davy fell into a fitful sleep.  
  
Mike, Micky, and Peter divided up the tasks that needed to be done. The one no one wanted to do was tell the client they had to cancel, so of course they drew fingers for it. Shockingly, Mike lost for once.  
  
He frowned, looking a little confused about how he could’ve lost, eventually he said, “Ok fine, I’ll go cancel the gig, but Peter you make sure Davy gets his medicine, and Micky,” Mike joked, “Try not to burn the house down.”  
  
Peter nodded earnestly, but Micky replied, “Aw, don’t be a drag.”  
  
“You don’t be a drag,” Mike called over his shoulder as he walked out the door.  
  
With Mike gone, Micky rushed about the kitchen, flinging open cupboards and repeatedly checking in the icebox, hoping that food would suddenly appear in it. Micky was ever a man of motion.  
  
Meanwhile, Peter stood, unmoving, in the bathroom, and stared quizzically into the mirror cabinet, trying to figure out which medicine would help Davy. There were just too many odd bottles in the cabinet to for him to discern what was what.  
  
After having scoured the kitchen, Micky threw some random food into a pot of water and placed it on the stove. He donned a chef’s hat and began stirring the steaming concoction whilst muttering in a bad French accent.  
  
“Zis zoup vill be maginifique!” He exclaimed as he brought a spoon to his lips to taste his “soup.”  
  
He swallowed the oddly green liquid and contemplated the taste, something was off.  
  
“Aha!” He suddenly figured it out, “Too peanutty, zit needs more cornflakes!”  
  
Peter walked in just as Micky dumped some slightly stale cornflakes into the “soup.”  
  
“I found some medicine for Davy,” Peter proudly held out a bottle for Micky to see.  
  
He gave Peter a confused look and dropped his French accent, “Pete, that’s mouthwash.”  
  
“Oh,” Peter looked at the floor, embarrassed about grabbing the wrong thing.  
  
Micky in an attempt to gloss over the mistake, offered to help him find the right medicine. Peter happily agreed, wanting to redeem himself, so they rushed off into the bathroom.  
  
Minutes passed until finally, Micky found the cold medicine and handed it triumphantly to Peter.  
  
“Thanks,” he called out as Micky went back to the kitchen to check on his soup.  
  
“No prob- BIG PROBLEM!” Micky exclaimed, frantically running circles around the kitchen. “You how Mike jokingly said not to burn down the house?”  
  
“Yeah,” Peter replied, not really knowing where this was going.  
  
“Well, it’s on fire!” Micky’s voice jumped an octave as he tried to find a bucket to fill with water.  
  
“Oh, do you want help?” Peter shouted back from the other room.  
  
“YES!”  
  
So together, Peter and Micky dumped buckets of water onto the burning curtains that had somehow caught on fire because of their close proximity to the stove. The fire was quickly put out and Micky stepped back to examine the damage, which actually wasn’t that bad. Only the curtains seemed to be destroyed, luckily, they discovered it when they did.  
  
Peter had failed to notice that everything was all ok now because he continued to fill up his bucket of water and spun around to hand it to Micky who was startled and didn’t grab it, resulting in a whole bucket of water splashing him from head to toe. He spluttered and gasped as the frigid water soaked him all the way through.  
  
“Sorry Micky!” Peter grimaced as he attempted to fan Micky who merely told him to cut it out.  
  
Mike was on his way back to the pad, having told the client they would have to cancel, but being an understanding woman, the client agreed to let them play next week, so he was feeling pretty relieved that it had worked out. However, he started to get suspicious as he neared the house, there seemed to be a faint hint of smoke in the air. He walked in and stopped in his tracks as his took in the scene in the kitchen.  
  
“What on earth is going on here?” Mike asked, “And why is Micky all wet?”  
  
“It’s not what it looks like!”  
  
“It’s what it looks like!”  
  
Micky and Peter glanced at each other in confusion.  
  
Mike raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.  
  
“Ok, ok,” Micky held up his hands in surrender. “I may have accidentally started a small, very small, miniscule, little, harmless fire.” He explained, not meeting Mike’s eyes.  
  
“Oh, it’s ok Mick, I guess no harm done,” Mike looked around the kitchen that was all still intact, “except for the curtains, which I didn’t dig that much anyway. Besides, I have good news, we get to play our gig after all, the nice woman is letting us play next week.”  
  
That brought Micky’s spirits back up, so much so that he coaxingly asked, “Mike, want to try some of my soup? I made it for Davy.”  
  
“Sure, that was thoughtful of you.”  
  
While Mike tried to questionable soup, Peter tiptoed into his and Davy’s room. He was greeted by the red nosed Englishman, who had just woken up from his not very successful nap.  
  
“Peter,” Davy coughed, “What was all that racket about? Something about a fire?”  
  
“Caught Micky fire house- no, house caught Micky- no,” Peter swapped around the words until he finally got it right, “Micky caught the house on fire.”  
“Is everything ok?” Davy’s eyes got big as he sat up in bed.  
  
“Everything’s fine, it was just a small fire. Also, Mike has good news! The client is letting us play the show next week!” Peter gave him a reassuring smile, “And, I have medicine for you.”  
  
Davy relaxed, comforted by the fact that the fire was practically harmless and that he hadn’t ruined their only source of income this month. Then he inquired, “What flavor?”  
  
“Gee,” Peter examine the bottle, “I don’t know. It’s red, red flavor?”  
  
“Aww,” Davy pretended to pout, “I prefer blue flavor myself, oh well, I guess I’ll take some.”  
  
Peter poured out some medicine onto a spoon and went to hand it to Davy, but was interrupted by a sneezing fit.  
  
“Bless you!” Peter said as he instead decided to spoon the medicine into a surprised Davy’s mouth himself.  
  
“Thanks,” he nearly choked out as he swallowed the medicine.  
  
“No problem man, I just want you to feel better soon. I hate it when one of us is sick, I don’t like to see people suffering,” Peter admitted as he left the room, rejoining Micky and Mike at the table.  
  
Mike stared contemplatively at a small bowl of greenish gray “soup.”  
  
“Well?” Micky asked.  
  
“Well, it’s not half good,” Mike concluded, “but- “  
  
“Oh, thank you, thank you! Zat zis the best review z’ive ever gotten!” Micky declared in his awful French accent.  
  
Before anyone could stop him, he rushed to Davy, carrying a large steaming bowl of soup of unidentifiable ingredients.  
  
“Davy, how are you feeling? I made you some soup!”  
  
“I’m doing alright, but being sick is a drag.” He coughed as he accepted the bowl from Micky who eagerly awaited his reaction.  
  
The soup did not look very appealing, the weird hue and the unknown lumps did not paint a pleasant picture. Fortunately, Davy’s nose was stuffed up and he could not smell the unnatural mix of aromas, and he was too ill to bother asking what was in it. To be honest, he really didn’t want to know.  
  
He took a tentative spoonful and oddly enough, didn’t taste anything out of the ordinary. It just kind of reminded him of watered down vegetable soup, that’s when he remembered that he was sick and really couldn’t taste anything accurately.  
  
“Micky, I can honestly say, this is the best thing you’ve ever made.”  
  
Micky’s face lit up at his friend’s review, “That’s even better than what Mike said!”  
  
Davy chuckled, imagining Mike’s reaction to the soup. His brief bout of amusement however, did not last as he experienced another frame wracking coughing fit. Micky offered him some water and once he recovered, he tried to ensure that Micky wouldn’t start cooking on a regular basis.  
  
“You know Mick, your soup is great for when someone is sick, I think that you should only make it then, as a you know, special get well soon treat.”  
  
“You really think so?”  
  
Davy nodded.  
  
Happy with that answer, Micky left Davy to eat his soup in peace, while he ran back to tell Mike and Peter what Davy thought.  
  
After a little while, the smallest Monkee fell into a restless sleep. He kept tossing and turning, not able to get comfortable. He only actually got about another twenty-minute nap. The nonstop coughing was really getting on his nerves. Feeling the worst he’d felt all day, despite having taken medicine, he sat there, miserable.  
  
Mike, Micky, and Peter glanced towards the sound of coughing each time it occurred, which was quite often. Mike’s concern grew until finally, he decided to rummage around until he found some cough drops hidden in the depths of the medicine cabinet. Then he slipped into Davy and Peter’s room.  
  
“How’re you holding up shotgun?” Mike asked, even though he could guess the answer.  
  
“Not well, I’m in here coughing my lungs out.” Davy answered hoarsely.  
  
“I see, well,” Mike held out a handful of cough drops, “I thought these might help.”  
  
“Oh Mike, you always know what to do,” Davy excitedly swiped one from Mike’s outstretched hand. He felt near instant relief as soon as he popped the soothing drop into his mouth. “Thank you.”  
  
The corners of Mike’s mouth turned up into a soft smile, “Always here to help, d’you need anything else?”  
  
“Well actually, I’m downright freezing,” Davy elucidated, “I think I have the chills or something, and the- “he hesitated, “extra blankets aren’t helping.”  
  
Mike unconsciously said a thoughtful “oh” as he realized what Davy was actually implying. Then he shrugged, no need to make it a big deal, Davy was cold and he needed to help him, clear and simple. That’s what he told himself as he silently went to crawl under the covers with him.  
  
“Wait, Mike,” Davy said, effectively pausing him half in and half out of the bed.  
  
Mike peered at him nervously, scared he had interpreted what he wanted wrong.  
  
“Just I don’t want you to catch what I’ve got.”  
  
Mike took a shaky breath of relief then said, “Nah, you won’t get me sick, I’ll be fine.” He assured him as he slid in next to Davy and pulled the covers down around them.  
  
Uncertain of how to proceed, he let Davy position himself how he wanted, snuggling close to Mike’s chest. He heard Davy sigh contently as he wrapped an arm gently around the smaller framed man.  
  
“Thanks Mike, mhm all warm now.” Davy murmured.  
  
“Anytime,” Mike replied as he let himself relax against him, feeling more at ease with the situation. He even tentatively carded his fingers through Davy’s hair, checking for a fever of course.  
  
Peter and Micky started to wonder what was going on because Mike had been in Davy’s room for over an hour and had not come back. Micky motioned for Peter to follow him over to the door, attempting to sneak across the living room like spies. He cracked the door open and he and Peter both peeked in. Micky nearly bumped heads with Peter as he whipped around to give him a shocked look. Peter however, noticed that Mike was awake and wide eyed.  
  
“Hi Michael,” Peter whispered.  
  
“Uh, hi Peter, look see he was cold and I- “  
  
“It’s ok, you don’t have to explain, I understand.”  
  
Everyone’s attention turned towards Davy, who was curled up against Mike, and had just barely whispered, “Cold again…” in his sleep.  
  
Mike’s eyes flicked up to meet Peter’s and they came to a silent understanding as Peter tread across the room and slipped into bed, ending up next to the other side of Davy.  
  
Micky took one step, then stopped. He held up his fingers, counting and recounting, mind whirring, trying to do some sort of math that would add up to this situation. He threw his hands up in defeat and squeezed into bed next to Peter. Surprisingly, he was able to fit, as Mike and Peter carefully shuffled around, trying not to disturb Davy, who despite the two additions to the bed, remained fast asleep.  
  
He pressed his face into Mike’s chest while Peter pulled him into a warm embrace, and Micky casually draped an arm across Peter, resting his hand on Davy’s back.  
  
Davy awoke in the morning feeling warm, cozy, and surrounded by love as he opened his eyes and discovered that not only was Mike snugly pressed against him, but Peter and Micky were there as well, their arms half around him, and half around each other. Never had Davy felt so safe and full of affection in all his life.  
  
He was feeling loads better too and he couldn’t wait to tell the guys so that they could practice for the performance next week. He settled back down under the covers though, perfectly content to let them sleep a little longer.  
  
Eventually, one by one, Micky, Peter, and Mike all woke up and were greeted in turn by a beaming Davy.  
  
“Thank you for doing this guys, I feel a million times better!”  
  
“I’m glad you feel better, but man I think I have a headache,” Mike frowned, rubbing his temples.  
  
Just then, Micky sneezed, nearly falling out of the very crowded bed.  
  
“Gesundheit,” Peter said as he coughed.  
  
“Oh no! I’ve gotten you all sick!” Davy inwardly cringed.  
  
“It’s ok, it was going to happen eventually,” Micky sniffled, “and besides, now we can all enjoy my leftover soup!”  
  
The other three Monkees looked at each other in horror, but then Davy laughed just because he was happy to be with his closest friends in the world, and Micky’s soup wasn’t that bad, was it? They all grinned, despite feeling under the weather, seeing as happiness is contagious much like whatever they caught from Davy. The Monkees repositioned themselves under the blankets and settled back into each other’s arms. They slept the day away, all thinking about how they should do this every time one of them is sick. Snuggling seemed to be the best cure…


End file.
